On the Line - Buddy Mondlock

I saw the singer in a bar,

It was crowded, it was hot,

She was close, she was far,

She wasn't sure what she was not,

But through the smoke and sweat

She brought it all out anyway,

And hung it on the line still wet,

Like laundry on a hot day.

On the line.

It wasn't that she played so long,
It wasn't that she played so hard,
But she was careful with each song
And the laundry filled the yard.
Once she looked a little puzzled there,
See all of us across the fence
Looking at her underwear,
Wondering what she'd put up next
On the line.

Then all is up and nearly dry,
And the line becomes a curve.
And seeing it there with her own eye,
She wonders where she got the nerve.
Then there's just the briefest pause,
In the thunderstorm of our applause
Everything gets wet
On the line,
On the line,
On the line.

Disk